Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 791: Devastating News Arrives from the Soul of Vengeance...
-
As the mysterious visitor passed through the Hall of Honor outside the Strategy Hall, through the stairwells and staircases, and arrived at the Warlord's private reception room, the Warlord's attendants were the first to greet him.

"You haven't attended a warriors' association gathering in a long time."

The other party nodded to the attendant in greeting.

"That's right. I've been busy fulfilling my duties as a warlord, which requires political and strategic considerations, and have neglected to participate in the society's discussions."

"But you're still a member of the Society, aren't you, Malhohorst?"

“Indeed.” The attendant nodded cautiously in affirmation. “But you’d better be careful with your words and actions when speaking to the War General. I asked him to see you only because of the help you provided to us in building our society.”

“Of course, I am very grateful,” the other party replied. “It was just a small favor for me to help, and I am overjoyed to have such beautiful fruit.”

These words did ease Malorhorst's solemn expression slightly. "Alright, before you go in, I should remind you that the War Marshal is not alone here."

"What?" The visitor's face suddenly stiffened, and the war commander's attendant narrowed his eyes to examine the other party carefully. "Who else dares to... could it be..."

"Yes, the one who is still inseparable from him at this moment is the Lord of Steel, the Fourth Primarch, Lord Peturabo."

The visitor's face immediately relaxed. "Ah," he said with a smile, "that's not a problem. I was planning to see the Lord of Steel anyway."

The general's attendant scrutinized the man again, trying to discern any clues about the changes in his expression.

“Don’t worry, Mar,” the other man said, spreading his arms and turning around to show him his full gear. “I’m not carrying any guns, bombs, or grenades.”

“That would be best.” Malhohorst’s gaze shifted from a slot on the other man’s belt.

"Ah, do you want to see it? It's a little souvenir, even made of stone, without any stance or poison."

He boldly displayed the weapon to the general's attendants.

“Antiques made of flint?” Malorhorst frowned. “And spices? Your tattoos combined with these things make you look less like an Astartes and more like a wizard.”

“It’s just Legion tradition,” the chief priest sheathed his short sword. “The desert people have always loved spices, and the words of Logar are my weapon and shield as well. Don’t the sons of C’Thun often wear coins and symbols?”

“That’s true.” The attendant nodded slightly and finally moved aside to make way for the stairwell door. “Given our lack of manpower and experience in dealing with such incidents since Nikaia, I sincerely hope you can offer some helpful advice to the Warmaster. After all, the system of Legion Priests originated with the Seventeenth Legion.”

“Of course.” The Astartes, whose face was covered with Kolchi script, smiled, his expression solemn and gentle, his tone confident and certain. “Trust me, it will definitely be of great help.”

--------

When Eribus entered the beautiful, dreamlike gold and green reception room, which was transformed by the golden lumens and the refracted green light of the stars, he did not see the two Primarchs as he had expected.

Perhaps Malhohorst's prediction was wrong, or perhaps another Primarch had to leave temporarily.

In short, there were only the two of them in the reception room. Zhan Shuai was sitting behind his desk with his head down, seemingly engrossed in the matters he was dealing with.

The chief priest of the Word Bearers entered, dressed in grey power armor that had been meticulously cleansed and anointed with holy oil. Each engraving of the Colchis was filled with a mixture of dark gold and red stucco, giving it an eerie texture.

The chief priest had once peeked over the door from outside the room, so he knew that the floor of the reception room was covered with beautiful hand-woven silk and wool carpets from the Achaemenid region. Considering the status and weight of their users, these carpets were so dense and thick that even Astartes, fully armored, felt his feet being supported when he walked on them—or, perhaps, that they could help him move more silently.

The reception room was quiet and peaceful, with only the soft scratching of the quill pen moving across the parchment in Zhan Shuai's hand.

The chief priest's lips moved as he silently recited the many insights he had gained from the Book of Logar and from his recent interactions with the frequently descending demons of the warp.

as predicted.

A thrill of success, having outmaneuvered someone far more powerful than himself, swept over him, but he suppressed his excitement and continued forward.

These new demonic knowledge, combined with what he had learned, were enough to temporarily conceal his presence and existence before such a powerful Primarch.

Horus Lupecal still hadn't noticed Eribas's arrival. Now, he was only a step away from the Imperial Warmaster, and he could even see the eyelashes covering Horus's pine-green eyes.

He silently recited a few more incantations to ensure that his movements and presence were completely concealed, and then reached for the seemingly decorative ceremonial short sword on his belt.

He gripped the exquisite, comfortable handle, and an indescribable sense of connection flowed from the handle into his heart. The various emotions emanating from this alien weapon, crafted from sensible metal, were clearly displayed to him: desire, killing. It wanted him to reach out, to slice Horus open with it, and to taste the blood and soul that shared a part of its origin.

Then he suddenly realized that he could now point the weapon at its ultimate target.

Irebas squinted at the War Commander in front of him and uttered the name.

Horus remained completely unaware.

Zhan Shuai wrote his reply and signed the seven petitions in a flash, then threw them into the pile of documents that had been processed. He then reached for a new data board—his right hand was forward, his body was leaning forward, and his neck was exposed to Irebas without any defense.

The chief pastor trembled violently. In that instant, he shook so badly that he had to exert himself very, very, very hard to restrain the urge to plunge a knife into that tempting artery and trachea.

But he remembered who he was.

The true gods had already told him, long, long ago, through a shattered mirror on Colchis, the role he would play in the course of the entire galactic history.

So he first murdered the boy next door to obtain the name Iribus.

He is destined to be an instrument of the gods, destined to bring them the champions they have chosen, and he will resolutely carry out and realize their will.

And all of this will be led over centuries by thousands of completely different events to a single outcome. He must fulfill his mission as a chosen instrument of God, rather than, as he has recently begun to fantasize about transcending his instrumental identity as the Primarch, attempting to usurp the champion chosen by the gods and steal the power that the true gods will bestow upon him.

The best evidence is that, although he underwent the full Astartes surgery and had those organs implanted, from the beginning, he only felt the same kind of charm that an ordinary person would have towards the Primarch, without the natural awe and bewitching submission that other Astartes had.

As his resolve to carry out his mission reached this point, and he realized he would not be tempted by the Primarch's allure, Eribus found his hand gripping the hilt of his Nemesis Blade regaining its tangibility, realizing just how dangerous an enemy he had just been standing beside for a fleeting moment.

Fortunately, it seems that the additional spells he just added as a precaution, along with the allies he summoned, are still working.

The chief priest glanced at Horus cautiously as he opened the data panel and began his new work, while simultaneously grading stacks of ordinary documents with one hand, seemingly oblivious to the dramatic inner struggle that had just unfolded beside him.

Well, it's time.

Erebas narrowed his eyes and raised his hands and the weapon in his hand high toward the Primarch, who, even sitting, was like an Astartes standing.

The nemesis's blade fell straight down.

Blood splattered out.

--------

"what have you done?!"

When Ramizan returned to the reception room after suddenly experiencing a long-lost bout of diarrhea and having to go to the toilet, he was met with the scene of a murder.

“...Eribas!!!”

“My lord, I have been waiting for a long time. I did not originally intend to act at this moment, but it is clear that fate has presented me with the opportunity I need. If I do not act, I will be failing the will of the gods. Please do not be surprised, my lord, and do not summon anyone else. I will explain everything to you.”

The chief priest's expression was twisted and pained. Brightly colored bubbles burst around him, especially around his head, with each burst accompanied by the scream of a demon. Behind the veil of the warp, the domains of the four gods were rapidly fading. The great demon princes, representing a part of their essence, were being sent here like free demon spirits to satisfy their murderous intent towards Erebasd. The boundaries of the real universe began to collapse rapidly in deep space, unobservable to anyone.

The Star Speakers and Navigators on Vengeance Souls, and even the psionicists in the observable galaxy, were oblivious, like people in the eye of a typhoon.

However, an old man from the future noticed this immediately due to the connection and promptly issued a warning to a real war commander.

"...Stop joking! Get away from him immediately! You villain! I'm going to kill you! I must summon all the apothecaries right now..."

"They can't cure him, sir. Only I can cure him! Only me! So you can't kill me!"

Irebas clutched his head, where the skin and facial features had begun to crack and shift. The power of the four lights continuously repaired and numbed his body, allowing him to continue shouting under extreme pressure and pain.

“This is a non-physical wound, and no scientific medical treatment from the Empire could possibly work! I know how to heal him, my lord!”

"Wait, you're saying he's not dead?" Having caught the meaning in the other's words, the person returned to the physical body of the Lord of Steel. Eribus stuffed one of the ruptured eyeballs back into its socket, and then, in a burst of blue and green light, looked with admiration at the other standing there again in the human form of "Perturabo" with his newly grown eyes. There was no flaw, only the surging nameless aura was as before.

Yes, he saw it when Eribus first saw the "mortal chronicler" who called himself "Ramizan" beside Loken.

That nameless, powerful energy aura was something that Eribas had never seen before. Even the blessed light that Loka could obtain by gathering and sacrificing the entire population of the planet, or the so-called emperor's false godly radiance, could not compare to it by even a fraction.

At first, he thought he had found a treasure here, a special high-level psionic being with a probability of one in a billion in the evolution of the universe.

He immediately planned to coax the other party and find a way to sacrifice him in exchange for more demonic power, or simply hold a ritual to absorb the other party's life essence and monopolize that unparalleled power.

Perhaps when he's full, he can give some to Loka to help him advance further on his path to promotion.

But after paying close attention and observing in secret for a while, Erebas soon discovered a secret about the Soul of Vengeance that no one except a few people knew: the mortal chronicler who called himself "Ramizane" was almost certainly the Primarch of the Warmaster, the Iron Warriors, the Fourth Primarch, Peturabo.

Since the matter involves the Primarch himself, Irebas's initial plan of forced abduction is no longer feasible. At this point, perhaps he can only rely on his most adept methods of thoughtful care and subtle influence.

But why would the Lord of Steel change his ways and hide among mortals he would never have looked up to? Eribus had no clue. He had lost contact with the Society members of the Iron Warriors Legion for a long time, and the distance was too great for him to know the latest developments within the Fourth Legion.

Furthermore, the Warlord seemed to trust him greatly, entrusting him and Malhohorst with a great deal of work, but most of those tasks were tedious bureaucratic paperwork and word games. However, his public persona required him to patiently present himself as gentle, shrewd, and capable, a task that consumed much of his energy.

In fact, the main reason he was able to discover that the narrator Ramizann was Peturabo was the peculiar similarity of the aura. Moreover, judging from the reactions of those around him, Eribas believed that he was likely the only one who could see this special golden aura.

What's even stranger is that, despite using more concealing equipment in his mortal form, the aura was even more pronounced and dazzling in the Iron Lord's mortal form.

When Perturabo removed his disguise and used his Primarch form, the distinctive golden light seemed to diminish, as if sunlight were obscured by clouds.

However, in his limited number of divinations and inquiries, the information he obtained from the supreme being was scarce and chaotic. Eribas, however, sensed something unusual: the true gods and demons of the supreme being seemed to fear this wielder of divine light... So...

"...So you plan to strike first and offer 'Horus' to me as...the chosen champion...?"

Mr. Ramizan Carlosini repeated it incredulously, blinking his eyes in Peturabo's body.

“That is indeed the case. Horus Lupecal is the vessel chosen by the Supreme Gods… There is no better divine agent in this galaxy than him. Now that the Nemesis Blade has destroyed his ‘shell,’ we can guide him to wholeheartedly follow you instead of that false god. Please… accept my sincerity.”

Irebas knelt down with a reverent posture, bowing his head deeply.

Blood dripped from the tip of the nemesis's blade, staining the wolf and moon on the society's silver coin.

(End of this chapter)